I'm in a funk. I'm pretty sure it's because I hate my job. No, hate isn't the right word...maybe bored? Unfulfilled. That's the one. Completely unfulfilled and frustrated that there are no newspaper jobs on the Cape! Oh, that's easy, says the me from former days, just move to where the jobs are. As appealing as that may be and as ridiculous as this next statement is, I can't. Why? Because God told me not to. Why do I have to be such a good lil' Christian girl? I mean, don't get me wrong, I've tried to move off Cape, I've come really close to it a couple of times. But for whatever reason, the door is closed before I can cross the Sagamore Bridge.
The rub lies, however, in the fact that at this point, I'm not sure if I really want to leave Cape Cod (unless it's for the grasslands of Africa that is). With my complete immersion into the youth culture at my church, I feel like I'm fulfilling a greater purpose than being able to weild my words at a reputable newspaper. As much as I crave the deadlines and the copy editing and the words, words, words, I crave being where God wants me to be more. And for some reason that I can't fathom now, He wants me here. On Cape Cod. I've said it before, there are worst places to be.
But, back to the original topic: I. Am. In. A. Funk. Not just any old funk. A funk of giant proportions. A funk that makes me want to do nothing on my specifically requested vacation day except for sit on my futon (soon to be replaced by an amazing love seat which will be delivered as of Saturday), eat all sorts of junk food, and trading off between drooling on the accent pillow during re-runs of Saved by the Bell and crying out of self-pity. Man, I'm in tough shape.
It's not so much that I'm depressed. I just work so much that I don't know what to do with myself when I actually have free time. See, my brain doesn't even recognize that phrase as proper English. What is this strange thing you speak of called free time? And if we want to be technical about it, there really is no such thing as free time. The past two days I had off were two days of precious vacation time of which I only receive two weeks of per year. Way to go me, I just wasted at least one day of vacation time being a glutonous slob and the other...well, spending $90 on clothes...but I look damn hot in them, so I'm not sorry! I won't be sorry, dammit!
It is nice to have money, but at what cost? I never have any time. Let me repeat that: I Never Have Any Time. I slept over my parents house on Sunday night and half of Monday I spent lounging around in my pj's watching TV and talking with my Mama. It felt good. It felt really good. Because really, what's the point of living 5 minutes down the road from my parents if I never see them? It seems that there's no win/win combination in your 20's...it's either work too much to make ends meet, or not work enough and starve more often than not because you can't afford to go grocery shopping.
Where's the balace? And where, for pete's sake, are all the newspaper jobs on Cape Cod???